


Liminal

by TransConnorDetroit



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Magic, Nagical AU, Possessive RK900, Trans Gavin Reed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransConnorDetroit/pseuds/TransConnorDetroit
Summary: Ever since the death of his father, Gavin has existed in liminal space. Alone and adrift, with little connections to the world besides the ones forged by trauma, he finally meets a kindred soul in Connor. But when events and people from Gavin’s past bubble to the surface, will Gavin be able to keep what he’s gained? Or will it all fade away, back into the blue abyss that took everything from Gavin?





	Liminal

**Author's Note:**

> This is very spur of the moment but I’m so excited. Please leave a comment!

Gavin had precious few things he cared about. But what he did care for, he would do anything to protect. He had lost his mother at a young age, lost his father not long after, and the only connection that remained was the family friend whose name remained at the bottom of his contacts. He had few friends, few new him, few loved him. Except for Connor.

He had met Connor at a coffee shop. It was small, and quiet. Not scenic, unless the overly poetic would describe the car’s belching black smoke as such, but it was close enough to Gavin’s work to warrant a repeated visit.

He had been disgruntled on their first meeting, running late and almost pushing his way to the front of the line. Too angry to fully appreciate the smile that Connor had shot him. He wished he had cherished it.

Connor had slid into his table the next day. Gavin was early, swept out of bed by nightmares with the stickiness of Sleep still costing his tongue. Perhaps that was why he hasn’t pushed him away.

Connor spoke first, bright like the streams of sun that made their way through the brown slats on the window to light the scuffed tile floors. “Hello. Do you come here often?” It was paired with a laugh, Gavin supposed to add the just-the-right-touch of self-consciousness to the cheesy remark.

“Why. You stalkin me?”

A blink, then a laugh. “If I was, don’t you think I would know?”

Gavin gave him a yes after that, cheeks heated up. They had talked, about the weather and the coffee and how god wasn’t it a beautiful sunrise, and their hands had brushed once, twice, perhaps thousands of microcosms of times, whether on accident or on purpose, Gavin didn’t know.

The next day, Gavin came late. He had slept well, at least remained in his bed until the alarm clock went off, even if his fingers had somehow curled just a bit too tightly around the dark red comforter. He had told himself that he would only get his coffee and go, to not string out the small leeway that Fowler had granted him after Gavin, fingers tight white against the black legs of his jeans, had explained the anniversary that loomed around the corner. Just the day, of course; the year would have evaporated the small amount of pity he had been granted.

But when his eyes met Connor’s, met lips pulled playful in a “I see your beauty sleep has done you well”, Gavin couldn’t pull away.

He was half an hour late to work that day, and a full hour late the next, so when the third day rolled around, Gavin woke two hours earlier to get ready. The start did him some good at least, he told himself. It kept him from running thousands of images over and over in his mind, from catching and choking on each one.

They had talked about many things, from the rush of people that spilled into the store, to the fondness they both held for animals and old animated movies. And to other, littler things.

“What’s your favorite color?” Connor had asked, beaming down at Gavin as his fingers flattened on the table.

“Dunno. Maybe black?” It was the prototypical answer, his go-to for years. But as he looked into Connors eyes, he decided he quite liked brown.

“Black? Depressing, Reed. Soulless, even, if we’re going the typical symbolism route. Why not a nice, sunny yellow? Get that happy energy flowing.”

Gavin barker a laugh. “That your favorite?”

“Orange, actually.”

“Like a sunset? All romantic and shit?”

“Fire, actually. And honestly, I thought you would have liked blue. Something nice and light, maybe.”

Gavin’s hands stiffened, white on rugged black with blue blue veins pulsing back. Gavin looked away.  
“Not my thing. Don’t even wear blue jeans.” Dark blue was better than light, not as soul-piercing as the bright blue that glinted like a sun. But the less blue he saw, the better.

“Damn. What about the ocean?”

Green and black. Passable. “It’s Alright.”

“I can’t say I’m the biggest of fan of sea water. I don’t like the feel of it on my skin; it’s too briny. But I can believe that you’d like it; you seem like you need something peaceful in your life.” Connor brushed a finger against the black purple bags under Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin laughed, his face surely red, and muttered something about how unpeaceful it was to have his back hit by waves.

They passed a few more mornings after that, together in the coffee shop. Gavin didn’t get nightmares for those nights, and Fowler appreciated the slow ebb of Gavin washing into the station on time. So Gavin gained more leeway in his nighttimes.

The first date was at a park. No pond, just rolling green and yellow grass hillocked like hands pushing out of the earth. They sat together on a brown bench, Connor listening rapt to Gavin’s police stories as his hand curled around Gavin’s shoulders.

The second passed at a restaurant (Bright green table cloth, white palm on white palm cutting through the middle). The third, a movie theater (Pink and purple flashes, dark blue water, uncomfortable enough for Gavin to vomit. They passed the end of the movie outside of the theater, pale hand smoothing circles into Gavin’s back).

Until finally, the flow of their dates evened out to a steady rhythm. Every Friday, if both of their schedules could help it, they met. They talked about many things, from the animals they both kept, to Gavin’s job, to the shaky, liminal feeling that followed them both, shook them even as they stood steady in the somber roots they had placed in this world. Gavin had few friends, and so did Connor. But a few things remained unspoken. Gavin never asked where Connor went, what job took him so far away in such a smattering of days. And Connor never asked about the scars, gentle and pale as glass, that feathered Gavin’s face. Or the candles, tall with white wicks flickering in a shade too close to red, that remained lighted even as Gavin slept.

It wasn’t perfect, sure, the space that charged between them. But for the first time in 17 years, Gavin felt calm.

But as the clock ticked by on the wall, Gavin’s eyes trained on it far more dutifully than on the steady scroll of his phone, he couldn’t help but lose that sense.

It was Friday. Connor was supposed to pick him up at 7:30 pm, take him out to dinner, maybe their park after. They had met up that morning at the coffee shop, white hand dusted with brown dirt ghosting over his before squeezing tight, a kiss placed on his cheek with no heed to who could be watching. No time for Connor to forget their arrangement.

The clock read 1:25 am. His back itched against the seat, sweat matting his shirt against the cheap fabric. The only small comfort was that he wasn’t wearing his binder. Connor had long known about him, had welcomed Gavin with soft touches and no hesitation when he held him. And the shirts Gavin wore were sturdy enough to keep his chest compressed enough to not call attention to him most days, sturdy enough for Gavin to forego a binder while catching dinner. Now, he was simply glad the stiff fabric hadn’t dug deep into his skin; he wouldn’t have had the energy to wrest it off while he waited for Connor to reply to his texts.

Gavin’s eyelids dropped. Three texts, the green and white glaring back at him from the screen. His eyelids drooped, the warm not-quite-red light of the candles flickering. Maybe Gavin would Sleep. Connor might not have cell-service, might not be awake, might have fallen asleep and forgotten, might be-

The candles flickered. Without the trick of Gavin’s eyelids fluttering, he knew for sure something was close.

He was standing, back still aching from being ripped from the seat. Everything hurt, throbbed, pulsed like the rock now stuck in his throat, the sweat still pooling and slick against his back.

All Gavin wanted to do was vomit, wanted to heave until all that left him was sludged bile. The knife was upstairs, tucked away in his bedside drawer, the only thing that could hurt them. The candles flickered faster now. He only had minutes.

Gavin sucked in a breath, forcing himself not to choke on the stale, watery air pushed around by the box fan he kept running. The steps creaked like broken ice under his feet, Gavin wincing at every step. Something sick and cool and slick pulsed inside of him, and if he just closed his eyes he was-

_Gavin flipped the page of his book, grunting in indignation as the paper caught on his sweat-slicked fingers. It was late, the summer sun long having gone dormant, the room only lit by yellow and supple red. Father was supposed to be home by now._

_And Gavin was supposed to be in bed, of course, but at 19 a fixed bedtime hardly seemed reasonable. Father never told him much beyond the rules he set out for Gavin (Don’t stay out of your room past 11:30 pm, don’t answer the door to anyone if the candles go out, don’t play in the lake, always keep your knife on you), and with Father so long-gone, he hardly had the energy to care._

_He was focused, too wrapped up in his book to care about the time, to care that red ceded to yellow in a quick flash right as Gavin heard the knock on the door._

_The knock was heavy enough to be Father, and as Gavin scrambled from his seat near the door, ready to bolt to his room and make like he had been in bed all along, the man spoke._

_”I know you’re out there, Gavin. I can see you.” His voice was course, like he had been crying, so unlike the usual stoic front Father performed. But unlike the exhaustion that was so common after panic, Father was on edge._

_Gavin crept to the door, peering out. Father stared back at him, the hint of a smile crossing his face. It was watery, and not just from the droplets of wet that Gavin now realized dampened his face. “Come on, honey. Won’t you let me in?”_

_Father hadn’t called him honey in a while. Years, maybe. But Gavin didn’t heed that. Didn’t heed the way the water shimmered over Father, the way his nose curved just a microcosm past his normal slant. Ignored the blue that somehow pulsed inside of his eyes in the low light. Ignored the look, feverish like starvation, that dripped from his face._

_The door creaked open, Gavin grunting as strong arms, damp and cold, scooped him into an embrace._

_“Did something happen?”_

_“At the lake. I need your help, honey. Won’t you come with me?” Slick hands slithered over his, folding his palm over like a promise._

_Gavin said yes. Gavin let himself be lead to the cool, still water, let Father’s harried steps grow slower, steadier, the edge from before seeping to collected calm. Gavin only realized something was off when the cold hand turned to a vice around his arm._

_“There’s nothing here.” Gavin said, arm stilled in his grasp. He was taller than his real father, by half an inch, more muscular, more weathered, hair just one shade darker. And his eyes. When Gavin Met them, Before quickly ripping his face away, sickly blue light spilled out._

_“No.” Father answered. “It’s in the lake.” A thumb pad traced a design in the back of his arm, and Gavin grit his teeth. Hissed out. Thought of the small knife in his pocket. Thought of running ._

_“It’s only a few steps farther. Please, won’t you humor your old man? I can carry you, if you want. Like when you were younger, remember? A-at the parade, where you rode on my shoulders?”_

_Father had never taken him to a parade. Gavin nodded, foot prepped to step back. His hand itched towards his pocket._

Gavin crawled across his bedroom floor. There was a noise at the door, a key turning in the lock. Gavin grunted, fumbling with the dull red drawer of his desk. It was in there, if he could just reach it.

_The hand tightened. “Come on, just a little farther.” Cold blue water lapped at his feet, sucking and sucking against him. Horrific, hungry, beckoning._

_The knife weighed heavy in Gavin’s pocket._

Something was on the stairs. Footsteps, slight but sure. If the night had been louder, if Gavin’s ears hadn’t been strained past the pounding pulse of his own terror, he wouldn’t have heard them. Gavin clawed open the drawer, biting back a curse as his nails scrabbled over the insides.

_The water was at his knees. Too afraid to stop it, too afraid to slow down. The hand still remained around his arm, tight and constricting._

_“Just a little farther.” The voice, so far from Fathers Gavin couldn’t know how he could have confused them, dispersed through the air in the fervent mutter. Every few feet, burning blue eyes looked back, as if to check he was really there. Gavin’s left hand slid into his pocket, grasping the knife. He slid it out as the man’s eyes cast back into the center of the lake._

Gavin’s fingers closed over the worn wooden handle that pulsed at his touch. The floor outside creaked, Gavin’s eyes going up as the knob clicked, the familiar brush of a key turning it open.

_The fake Father was occupied, hands tightening around Gavin until the tiny blade lodged itself into the soft flesh of his neck. Blood and rot seeped down into the water, dark blue and purple mingled with the tortured scream as Gavin desperately ran away, the knife still tightly clutched to his palm as blue blue water clawed him back._

Connor, but not Connor, as Gavin knew with the sickening crunch in his stomach, stepped into the room. His fingers were too spidery, hair just a shade too dark, eyes burning blue as water drip drip dripped from him, turning the green carpet underneath him dark blue.

“Gavin.” He said, the warmth in his voice not matching the chalked pallor of his face, of the worm-like lips that pulled back in a hint of surprise. “What a pleasure it is to see you up. It’s been what, 17 years?”


End file.
